The Backwards Regeneration (AU)
by CherryBlossoms29
Summary: Amy and Rory Pond turn up at 221B unexpectedly, but another surprise awaits Sherlock and John.
1. Who Are You?

Beneath his shut eyelids, Sherlock could hear all that was around him. His senses were awake and alert but he didn't feel the need to open his eyes to the sun he saw every day, and there was nothing special happening today, so why should he?  
The clinking of tea cups, the kettle whirring as it signaled the end of its boiling, and the faint, cliché music of early morning TV shows; the sound of life. After a while he started to drift off to sleep again, a light fog of sleep slowly engulfing his thoughts and active mind, but he was jolted awake when he suddenly heard a high pitched and frankly quite loud, _girlish_ laugh from downstairs, followed by a more masculine one. Intrigued, he sat up, swaying a little from the sudden movement, and started for John's room to see if he was awake. Maybe he had someone over, or maybe the TV was turned up to a tedious and obnoxious level. When he peeked through the door, John was still sleeping soundly in his bed, surrounded by blankets and pillows. He looked so precious to Sherlock, so warm…  
No, no, he couldn't think that about John, John was his roommate and nothing more. Perhaps the early morning start was getting to his brilliant mind.  
Slowly, and a little light headed, Sherlock padded downstairs, and he seemed to forget about the girlish laugh he heard from downstairs, perhaps, subconsciously, he dismissed it as the television. But as he walked to the kitchen with his observant eyes taking nothing in, he suddenly saw the figure of a girl, standing in his kitchen. Immediately he woke up and his mind and eyes began to work together again, deducing this strange girl in his kitchen. She had shiny and quite long red hair, with slightly green-brown eyes and a skinny and fragile body structure. When he spun around he saw another man standing there, his sand-coloured hair a mess and his eyes wild from the lack of sleep.  
And there Sherlock stood, still groggy from sleep, as his mouth gaped open and his brain searching frantically for words. Suddenly, the girl spoke.  
"Well who are you, then?" She spoke in a slightly amused voice, and a sly smile playing at her lips.  
"I could ask you the same question. What the hell are you doing in my apartment?" Sherlock spat, straightening his back, a subconscious habit he had so he looked like he had much more authority over the person he was speaking to. It was quite condescending but in this case he needed to defend his territory. Why shouldn't he be angry when two strangers are standing in his kitchen drinking tea early in the morning?  
"Oh, um," the other man said nervously, "I suppose this is where he took us. He told us you knew him and that you'd let us in."  
Utterly amazed and confused Sherlock looked at the girl again, waiting for her explanation. She laughed,  
"Yes, like he said, this is where he took us. I hope it's not an inconvenience for you but we needed a safe house."  
"Who brought you here? Who _are _you?" Sherlock was starting to get really, really angry. He needed answers, and he couldn't cope if he didn't get any.  
"Oh, where are my manners!" The girl laughed again. "I'm Amy Pond, and this," she walked over and placed her arm over the man's shoulders, "Is Rory. The one who brought us here told us that you were friends with him?"  
"Well, that does depend on who you are talking about, who is 'he?'" Sherlock asked, his eyes boring into Amy's, filled with utter rage and confusion.  
"The Doctor."


	2. The Day The Doctor Turned Up

_He had stumbled upon it one day, it was an accident. He never went looking for it, nor did he expect to find it. It was just there.  
Sherlock was 16. The tension in his house was so great that he had burst out of the front door and started running, sprinting through the woods that surrounded his isolated home. He didn't know where he was running to, he just wanted to run. Anger and misery was seeping into his chest and he just needed to run, to get it all out. For nearly 30 minutes he ran, never stopping, until suddenly he tripped over a submerging root in the ground and he tripped face first to the hard ground. He sighed, turning his head to the side and propping it up on his arm. He was dead tired from his large escapade of running, and he decided to just lay there and catch his breath then return on home. But in the distance, a large rectangular outline in the forest stood out to Sherlock. It was quite far away, but to Sherlock and his observant eyes saw it clearly. It looked like some sort of phone box – a blue one.  
_Odd, _he thought, England's phone boxes were red nowadays. He groaned as he got up and stumbled a few steps before he regained his balance, and padded silently in the direction of the blue box. Suddenly the door of the phone box opened and a man stepped out. His long brown hair flopped lazily over his forehead and his green eyes shone in the light.  
"Oh!" He smiled, leaning against the phone box's door. "What happened to you, then? You look a bit dirty. Were you in a fight?" He chuckled a little.  
"N-no…" Sherlock stuttered. "I was running and I fell over. Why do you live in a phone box? That's a bit of a daft thing to do."  
The man's reply was merely a laugh, and he stepped out from under the door frame of the phone box and walked towards him. Sherlock was still curious and skeptical about the man so he stepped back a few paces, but he stood up straight like he was defending something important; Sherlock didn't like to be looked down upon.  
"Well I think it's a brilliant place to live. It has tea and food and I can travel anywhere in it. It even has a swimming pool!" He grinned again and skipped to the side and gestured for Sherlock to step in the phone box. "Have a look if you like."  
After hesitating, Sherlock took a few steps and looked inside. It was huge; it had some sort of engine in the middle that travelled all the way up to the roof, that shone a light blue. The stairs looped around the perimeter and disappeared into various rooms. Sherlock was absolutely astonished and his mind was swimming with scientific formulas and theories that could explain this unnatural phenomenon. He snapped his head back to look at the man.  
"What is this, a scientific advancement that we don't know about?! It can't be bigger on the inside, that is impossible and I refuse to believe it." He yelled, slightly light headed from all the information flooding into his mind.  
"Oh but you must believe it, it is in front of your eyes, isn't it? And no," he chuckled, "It isn't a scientific advancement. Well, not where I come from, this is old stuff." He tapped the phone box and smiled proudly.  
"Where do you come from, then? Outer space?" Sherlock laughed sarcastically, dismissing the theory of this man being an alien from space.  
"Why yes. I am from the planet Gallifrey," his smile sank. "Not like you've ever heard of it. It doesn't even exist anymore."  
Sherlock frowned. "Stop talking nonsense," he snapped, "None of this is real. _You're _not real."  
The man just merely smiled and cocked his head to the side. "Why are you out here all alone?"  
Sherlock looked away.  
"I had a petty fight with my family," he waved his hand, "I just feel so sorry for them – their IQ is so low for people of my parent's age. And well, my brother is no different. He's a moron, really." Sherlock shrugged and lowered his head, his black curls falling effortlessly over his eyes. "But it doesn't matter."  
The man's eyebrows tensed and a look of displeasure crept onto his face. "Of course it matters. It made you upset, didn't it?"  
"I'm not upset!" Sherlock yelled. He hated being treated like a child, and he hated when his emotions betrayed him and especially when it showed on his face and people were able to read him like a book.  
"Oh no, you are. I can tell," he straightened his jacket before he stepped over to Sherlock and put a hand on his shoulder. "Just remember that you matter. I've been around for 900 years of time and space and I've never met someone who isn't important; and that didn't change when I met you." The man smiled and tilted his head, looking at Sherlock.  
Sherlock's expression changed to hostile and agitated to basically no expression at all. He was confused as to how to respond. The man's words had touched his heart in a small way that no one had ever done before. Well, no one ever told him that he was important before.  
"Uh," Sherlock said, scratching his head, "Thanks…"  
The man grinned again and patted Sherlock's shoulder twice before looking into the phone box.  
"Well, I must be off. I have to investigate an Ood factory. Poor souls," he sighed. He stepped into the box and looked back at Sherlock, smiling softly. "You stay safe, you hear? I'll be back one day." And with those parting words, he closed the phone box's door.  
"Wait!" Sherlock yelled, and the door opened again and the man's head popped out. "Who are you?" Sherlock asked.  
"I'm the Doctor." He replied. "And who are you?"  
Sherlock stood up straight again. "I'm Sherlock Holmes. Future detective."  
"Well, it was nice to meet you, Sherlock Holmes. I hope you and your family work things out!" He called as he shut the door.  
Sherlock stepped back and the box faded into thin air.  
_


End file.
